


you can feel it on the way home

by archers_and_spies



Category: Marvel
Genre: 5+1 Things, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Ice Cream, Marriage, Movie Night, Mutual Pining, Song: You Are In Love (Taylor Swift), Stitches, happy birthday georgia i love you so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:02:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27453181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archers_and_spies/pseuds/archers_and_spies
Summary: 5 times Clint told Natasha she was his best friend, and 1 time Natasha tells Clint he's hers.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 6
Kudos: 34





	you can feel it on the way home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geeorgiaaaaaaa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geeorgiaaaaaaa/gifts).



> um okay so i actually spent fifteen minutes typing this out but ao3 deleted it. all i know is pain. just go check out [witch fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27325255) and i love u georgia have a good one more in the end notes!!

**-one-**

Clint watches Natasha twirl her fork around the spaghetti on her plate. The mission had ended early, thanks to her spot-on instincts as always, and now she’s dragging him around the unfamiliar city, trying to make the best out of the downtime they’re getting before Fury assigns them their next mission.

He rests his head on his hand. Natasha’s rambling on and on about the unforgiving tasks some agent’s giving to a batch of new recruits, but he’s so fully immersed in the sound of her voice that he doesn’t even catch the agent’s name.

“Clint.” Natasha kicks him under the table with her boot. “Earth to Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay? You haven’t touched your food.”

“Yeah, I’m just…” He smiles.

She raises an eyebrow. “Staring at me like an idiot?”

“Nothing,” he defends. “I… you’re my best friend, Nat.”

His heart skips a smug little beat when he sees the tiny smile she stops from spreading too wide. “ _I’m_ your best friend? You’ve known me for, what, three months?”

“People aren’t normally forced to bond under extremely stressful situations,” Clint says, “like that time you had to defuse a bomb tied to me.”

“You… have terrible taste in people. I must be the only friend you have.”

He scoffs. “Contrary to popular belief, that is false. I have many friends. But, you are the only one I need.”

This time, she ducks her head and smiles. “Okay. Idiot. Come on, I’ll get us dessert. There’s this little shop down the road that looks cute…”

She gets up and tugs Clint along with her. When he’s having a brain freeze five minutes later from an ice cream she’s paying for, he tries to drown out the sudden heat in his chest that blossoms at the sight of Natasha’s smile.

**-two-**

Natasha nearly falls on the door knocking, but Clint opens it just in time to reach out and steady her. Normally, his touch would jolt her awake, but she’s too tired to even think. She leans in, just a little bit.

She smiles sheepishly. “Hi.”

“Nat, you just came back from an intense week-long mission,” he frowns.

“Yeah, that’s why I changed into sweatpants. You think the leather suit’s comfortable?” she jokes. “Wait. Did you not want me here? Cause I can go. I just thought we were still on for tonight; I tried to make it back today just—”

“I do want you here,” Clint interrupts. “Come in. I missed you.” He opens the door.

Natasha gratefully enters and flops unceremoniously onto his couch, covering her lap with the blanket that’s already there. She feels Clint’s eyes following her and turns. “What?”

“I don’t know, I thought you’d need at least an hour of rest, or something. Your eyes are half-closed.” He closes the door and sits next to her, like how he did last month, the month before, and the month before that. His scent is comforting, and out of habit she draws her knees up to her chest and leans sideways on his shoulder. He puts an arm around her.

“I couldn’t miss movie night,” she says. “What are we watching today?”

“Uh… how’s Matilda sound?”

“That movie’s so old!”

“You _love_ it. Don’t even try to pretend otherwise.”

“Alright. Just play the movie, Barton,” she says, knowing full well she won’t be able to make it ten minutes in. Sure enough, Matilda hasn’t even met Miss Honey yet when Natasha’s eyelids begin drooping. Clint and the blanket and _Clint_ are so warm, and she tears down all her pretenses of trying to stay awake, burying her face into the side of Clint’s hoodie.

He smiles into her hair. “You’re my best friend.”

In the morning, Natasha wakes in Clint’s bed, still in her clothes from the night before. Pulling aside his (very soft) covers and walking out into the living room, she finds Clint asleep on the couch, his hair a mess and his hearing aids on the coffee table. Natasha smiles, then walks over to kiss his forehead gently. He stirs but doesn’t wake, and she whispers, “You’re mine too.”

**-three-**

“You’ve gotta start being more careful,” Clint scolds absently. He doesn’t like seeing Natasha hurt. 

The hotel is run-down, but they’ve learned not to expect much. Their handler what’s-his-name is probably dead now, but Clint doesn’t even find it in him to care. Natasha’s back is bleeding and the resources in the first-aid kit are limited. She doesn’t wince once when he stitches her up in the bathroom.

“You were in the way,” she says by way of explanation. “Rather me than you, Clint. I can take it.”

“I know that,” he says. “But it also makes it my fault, so.”

“I barely feel a thing,” she says sarcastically. Her grip on the counter tightens and her knuckles are white. The urge to just hold her hand and be gentle with her washes over Clint, and he shakes his head slightly to clear it. Natasha half turns. “What?”

“Nothing. You know you’re my best friend, right?”

Natasha says, “Yeah.”

The room comes with two single beds, but that night Natasha climbs into Clint’s and he holds her tight, telling himself it’s only to prevent her from moving too much and reopening her wound.

**-four-**

Natasha stumbles with Clint back up the stairs to his apartment, arm around his waist. He’s giggling and leaning on her and it would be cute if he wasn’t so heavy.

It’s a little hard getting the key into the lock, but she eventually manages it and leads Clint right into his bedroom. He falls onto the bed and grins the whole time as Natasha tries to pull the covers out from under him.

“Hey,” he says. “Hey, Tash. Stay?”

It only takes her two seconds to decide. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.” She takes off her heels, not even bothering to change into the clothes she knows he keeps at his apartment just for when she stays the night. She climbs under the covers and Clint sighs contentedly.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Nat,” he whisper-slurs. “I owe you.”

“Never,” Natasha says. “I love doing it.”

“So you agree. You don’t owe me, for bringing you into SHIELD. For turning you into a good person. You did that yourself.”

She chuckles. “So you’re _drunk_ drunk. How did you even tie that into—” she bursts into a grin at his lazy one. At this point, she’s gotten used to the butterflies. She doesn’t know if it’s a good thing.

“You can’t blame me. I’m drunk,” says Clint. 

“Okay, alright,” Natasha says. “Go to sleep, idiot.” She lets him get closer and snuggle his face into her neck, feeling his smile against her skin. “Oh, almost forgot.”

As gently as she can, she removes the hearing aids from his ears and sits up to set them down on the bedside table. Clint is a breath away from falling asleep, but he feels it and squeezes her hand.

“Thank you,” he says. “You’re my best friend.”

Natasha kisses his hair and dreams of roses, kisses, and being in love.

**-five-**

Clint starts awake, sitting up abruptly from the shock. He’s vaguely aware of the wave of light-headedness that washes over him, but it doesn’t matter now. Nothing else does, anymore. 

Natasha‘s hand is cupping his face in a split-second, her concerned face filling his vision. “Clint,” she’s saying. “Clint, you alright?”

He pauses. Mentally lines this face up next to the dozens of ones that had come before; the uncountable hairstyle changes, the fierce set of her brows in the middle of battle, the shade of green in her eyes that he dreams of at least twice a week, her unchanging smile of relief every time he wakes up in a hospital bed.

So when Clint says, “You’re my best friend,” what he means is, _thank you for everything, you make this shithole of a world more bearable to live in every day, you’re my soulmate and I love you, Tasha._

Something in Natasha’s expression changes, and he worries for a second she’d heard his spiral of thoughts. _I take it back, Nat, please don’t hate me—_

Instead, she leans forward and closes the distance between their lips. Clint reaches out blindly and cups her jaw to bring her closer, fireworks in his heart, and it’s minutes before they finally pull apart but he already wants to do it again, wants to feel her pulse alive and erratic.

Their foreheads are touching and her cheeks are flushed. “Hi,” she smiles shyly, and Clint realises he’s in deep, deep trouble.

When he gets out of the bedroom the next morning, Natasha’s in the open kitchen wearing his shirt, sitting on the counter and eating Nutella straight out of the jar. He feels his heart warm at the sight and offers bread to spread it on instead.

They call in sick (“Yes, Coulson, _both_ of us, we’re together a lot, okay?”) and spend the whole day trading smiles, giggles and kisses. Clint finally understands now, what every poet and singer and painter have tried to express. They’ve all missed by a long shot, but it’s okay. Clint couldn’t do Natasha justice if he tried.

**+**

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Maria asks.

“Okay, _what_ is that supposed to mean?”

“It _means_ , Barton is literally a mess and has probably only ever slept with three girls, including you, so if you’re getting cold feet, that’s perfectly— _hey_ , I’m joking. Don’t hit me; you know damn well how unintentionally strong you are.”

“I just—don’t want anyone to make a big deal out of this,” Natasha says. “Clint and I have basically always been married. We’re just making it official today. You know, for joint taxes, and, like, emergencies.”

She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Emergencies?”

“I don’t know, it would give me a way to legally get into his room in a non-SHIELD hospital whenever he gets hurt. They’ve never let me in once; I’ve always had to sneak in. One time, I nearly broke my leg trying to get in through the window, and then _I_ had to stay in the hospital—”

“Romanoff, cut the crap and admit it. We all know this is a big deal for you. You’ve pined after him for years. It’s okay to be nervous.”

“I did not _pine_ after him for years, Maria,” she says exasperatedly. “I don’t know. He’s more than a soulmate at this point, and it just—feels right.”

“Good,” Maria smiles. “I already called a cab for you. Get out there, don’t pass out in the middle of your vows, you’ll do fine.”

Natasha does actually get close to passing out when she sees Clint waiting for her with the biggest grin. Neither of them are even dressed formally, but still he signs, “You’re beautiful,” leaving her blushing. Her hand shakes when signing the certificate and Clint kisses her cheek right after, slipping his hand into hers easily. 

“Hey, Clint,” Natasha says on the ride back. Clint turns expectantly, hand still entwined with hers. “You’re my best friend.”

He kisses her sweetly and tastes like the ice cream that she paid for all those years ago.

**Author's Note:**

> ao3 has a much more generous character limit than instagram i just keep winning so without further ado  
> to georgia: happy birthday !!! you're one of the first internet friends i've ever had so everyone else should literally bow down to you. i clearly remember saying this last year but it still remains true: you're my constant. there's no other word for it. you're that mutual friend that everyone knows and loves. you're like a star and we're all just planets orbiting you. i would literally run out of words to list everything good about you, but just know that you're one of the nicest, most genuine and helpful, friendliest, sincerest, sweetest people i know, and so many other people would say the same for you. so, on behalf of 12-year-old me, thank you for making the choice to become my friend, thank you for inspiring me so much. i would truly be so lost without you and you make me smile every day. let us close with a taylor swift lyric from the song this fic was inspired by:  
>  _and you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars_  
>  _and why i've spent my whole life trying to put it into words_  
>  amen. 😌  
> i couldn't put what your friendship has meant to me over the past years into words if i tried. and i wOULD try harder but it's getting late and i still have biology work to do. just know you mean the world to me. you're my best friend :)
> 
> to everyone else thank you so much for reading even if this was a little short!! [here's my link as usual](https://cheree.carrd.co) and on a completely unrelated note biden won the presidential election and i'm not even from the us but i'm so happy i cried for an hour at 1am last night. ok bye ❤️


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